The flight. Oh, God, the flight. I was, as I predicted, stuck in the middle seat on a 3-4-3 configured 747. A word about JAL economy: Don’t fly it. I’m a little taller than most, and probably a little bigger than I should be, but I don’t see how anyone who isn’t of standard Asian stature could comfortably fit in those seats. I put a magazine in the seat pocket in front of me. I could no longer fit my knees in the space between the seats if I put my feet flat on the floor. The space under the seat in front of me was totally unusable — I had to put my feet there. Even so, every time the guy in front of me shifted around, his seatback came into my knees; I had little red bruises on my knees when I got off the plane. The seat cushion extended maybe a third of the way down my thighs. My entertainment handset was broken, and my reading light pointed at the guy sitting next to me. (Both of these were fixable, sort of.) I managed to get up exactly twice during this flight, and both times I had to grab on to something to pull myself up, since my legs didn’t seem to want to work. I dropped a bottle of water at the beginning of the flight. I didn’t get it back until Narita (but this turns out to be fine, since, as I said, there was no way I was getting up more than twice during this flight).

When you spend an extra five minutes in the bathroom because you like the space it affords, there’s something seriously wrong. I think I get more room on Jazz Dash 8 flights to and from Vancouver.

Narita is a very nice airport, save for the crush of humanity. I am coming to realize this about myself: I am a borderline agorophobe. At YVR in the international departures I was trying to stay calm (harder to do given the aforementioned weather- and seat-related, um, issues) amid the teaming masses of people. It is extremely clean. It is relatively easy to get around. Customs and Immigration was cleared with a minimum of annoyances (though the Immigration guys really should get a more clear set of instructions for completing that card). The NEX from Narita to Shinjuku was an oasis of peace, uncrowded, and comfortable. Also, I had more than enough leg room. Rolling through the fields east of Tokyo I was able to sort of think that maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

Then I hit Shinjuku.

That agoraphobia kicked in the second I made it up to the exit floor. The smell of human beings, cigarette smoke (the Japanese are perhaps one of only three ethnic groups who remain inveterate smokers), strange food — my head started to spin. Okay, I’d been up for 20+ hours at that point, but still, I work shifts in that state and I don’t feel that lousy. Finding my hotel was a bitch; I turned the wrong way walking out of the station and only realized it five minutes later. Then I took another wrong turn. These were interesting
wrong turns, in that I ended up overlooking one of the big neon streets here, but unhelpful for someone who just wants a bed to fall into.

I finally found the building, but couldn’t figure out how to get inside. By the time I reached the reception I couldn’t see straight, was sweating like crazy (it’s really warm and humid here), and was about ready to collapse. Which I more or less did when I got to my room (but not before figuring out what the goddamn piss hell weighed so much in my backpack; I’m still not sure, but my shoulders hurt like hell).

This was around 19:00 Tokyo time.

At 23:40 or so, I was bounced out of bed — very almost literally — by an earthquake. Yes, you heard me right: A magnitude 5.7 earthquake hit Tokyo just before midnight last night, jolting me out of a sound (and drugged!) sleep and leaving me in full-blown panic mode. Instinctively I rolled out of bed on to the floor, cowering, realizing I was pretty well screwed if the 10+ stories of the building above me decided to come down on my head. The shaking lasted maybe twenty seconds (I counted) and although I was well aware that peak intensity follows the arrival of the initial seismic pulse, I swear it got stronger as the quake went on. I seem to remember thinking, “Well, this is just great. The entire trip so far has sucked, and now
I’m going to die in a goddamn earthquake. I should have stayed home.”

The shaking eventually ended but I was too keyed up at this point to go back to bed. So I got up, got dressed, and wandered downstairs. The PA was blaring announcements in Japanese, with only the fourth or
fifth word comprehensible to me. I had no idea whether these announcements meant we had to evacuate or what, but I decided that getting out might not be a bad idea at this point. Eventually someone got on the PA (probably after noticing the knot of white people standing around in the lobby trying to figure out what was going on) and explained (in English) that all was well, the building was designed to withstand these kinds of things, and we should go back to bed. Uh-huh. I hit the street.

Shinjuku after dark — particularly after midnight — is a much more interesting place than during the day. It feels pretty safe, all told, even with the streets more or less deserted. I tried phoning everyone I knew who was likely to be up at 08:30 Pacific, ultimately getting a hold of Skippy, who told me to just ride it out. Thanks a lot, man. I took some pictures of the Tokyo Fire Department in action (sadly, the one I took of their cartoon dog mascot didn’t come out too well) as they roared up and down the street running from call to call. I walked through the park behind the Metropolitan Government Offices buildings, then went back to the hotel. Bought some sushi and some orange juice, ate, went back to bed thinking that this trip had not been much fun to date.

I woke up this morning with a headache, resolved to enjoy myself more today than I did yesterday. It didn’t last long. The mob scene at Shinjuku station continued well into the morning, my agoraphobia cranked up to 11, not helped by my feeling of complete helplessness. I made my way to the TIC in a non-descript office building by Yurakucho station on the Yamanote line (which I walked by twice because I was too stupid to look up — more on this later, too), and with the help of the staff up there I booked my hotels for the rest of the trip, which kind of took a load off my mind (relatively speaking, I mean). It was a relief to be able to communicate meaningfully with people without having to resort to pantomime or broken English or Japanese, and I think I would happily stayed there all morning if I could have thought of other things to say.

Hunger kicked in while I was at the TIC so I went to find a place for lunch. Hah. I don’t know if it’s jet lag, my lingering illness, or the fact that I’m a culinary racist, but every time I think about eating food I get incredibly nauseous. This is going to sound infantile, but: Every food establishment I’ve been in or near has kicked out this awful smell, a combination of smoke, food, and something else (quite possibly cologne) that makes my stomach turn inside out. I can’t figure out what anything is in any of the menus, and the plastic displays don’t help. They don’t look delicious, they look gross. I’m prepared to acknowledge this bias in myself for now, but I wonder if maybe this isn’t a self-perpetuating problem: I’m not eating beacuse I don’t feel good, and I don’t feel good because I’m not eating. So I’m trying to get some source of exogenous glucose into me (bananas are good and taste the same everywhere in the world, even if the ones in Japan come wrapped in a hermetically-sealed plastic bag). But I’m trying to think about what I should do for dinner — I know, intellectually, that I need to eat something considering my last substantial meal was on the airplane almost a day and a half ago — and the idea is so wholly unappealing I’m getting nauseous all over again.

I was told, before I left, that I’d learn lots about myself. Philip once wrote that the reason to travel was not so much to understand other people but to understand yourself better, and I’m sort of seeing that except I’d argue that I’m not learning anything good. I need to understand the world around me and be able to make sense of it; Tokyo is understandable on an inanimate, if huge, scale, but when you throw the 22 million people into the mix it becomes incomprehensible to an outsider. I suppose for some tourists that might be part of its charm, but it drives me up the wall. Combined with the aforementioned agoraphobia I am extremely uneasy being in this city even though intellectually I know I have nothing to worry about — because I don’t understand it. Also, I feel like a minority here in a way I never have back home (probably because I am a minority here in a way that I am not back home), and so every interaction I have with people in my broken Japanese seems almost pity-inducing — never mind the stares I get on the street. The giant gaijin wandering around lost, staring at the ticket machines.. it goes on and on and on.

I’m aware at how childish this is going to sound, but I’m hilariously homesick. I feel alone and isolated here — I don’t know that I’ve ever felt more alone or isolated in my life — and it’s made worse by the fact that I feel sick, and can’t communicate with the zillions of people around me. Every time I want to go somewhere it’s a huge chore, because I have to haul out maps and match up kanji characters and drag out a compass, and even then I still manage to get lost. Because I can’t find anything reliably, I end up having to backtrack a lot: I went for a ride on the subway to Kasumigaseki station (there’s a reason for this, more on it at a later date) after visiting the MGA observation tower. I came back to Shinjuku on a different line than the one I went out on, which dropped me in a different part of the station. And I was screwed — I had no idea where I was going, there was no signage, and no one to ask. So I ended up having to walk all the way back to the MGA offices; I can find my way back to the hotel from there. It’s like this everywhere. I was ecstatic to realize that the adapter plug I brought from Canada works OK in my hotel room, because the idea of having to find anything in Akihabara was just that depressing (I haven’t been there yet, tomorrow, probably).

I sincerly hope this phase passes, that it’s just culture shock coupled with jet lag, because I really don’t think I can take 15 more days of this. No, that’s not right: I know I can’t take 15 more days of this. I know it sounds like I’m whining, and maybe I am, but the reality is that I’m about this close to saying “I hate this place.” The fun/sucks ratio of this trip is tilted sorrily in the direction of “sucks” right now, and if it doesn’t get any better I don’t know what I’ll do.

I’m going to finish this up and then go dock hallie at the business center downstairs so I can send if off, and maybe find something to eat tonight that won’t make me nauseous. My body’s still way out of whack — it’s 16:30 here right now, 00:27 on the west coast, and I have no idea what time I think it is but I’m tired — so it’s likely I’ll be going to bed early tonight. Probably watch a movie I brought with me, read some more of the New Yorker. Try to get some sleep, and start tomorrow with a reasonably full day planned. Don’t know what I’ll do, but I hope it’s more interesting than today was.